


Disappear

by Picturemedrowning



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Ficlet, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Picturemedrowning/pseuds/Picturemedrowning





	Disappear

  
_Touch me or don't_   
_Just let me know_   
_Where you've been_

_Or we could leave it alone_   
_I'm sure there's someone who knows_   
_Where you've been_   


Brand New - Luca

*** 

 

The room was dark and warm when he creaked the door open. He closed it slowly, muffling the click. Randy was a black shape on the bed, breathing soft and quiet. John padded across the thick hotel carpet and into the bathroom. Slipped his shoes off and his shirt over his head and folded it neatly. He didn’t turn the light on. Ran the tap and splashed water over his face. Washed his hands.

Back into the room and he stopped, suddenly. Randy was sitting up in bed, silent, shoulders hunched. John could see his outline in the orange streetlight filtering in through a crack in the curtains.

‘Where’ve you been.’

His voice was quiet and heavy with accusation.

John swallowed, searched around in the darkness for some words. ‘Out. I went out.’

‘I know that.’

John always hated that tone in Randy’s voice. Not because it grated on him, more because he was a little scared of it. That dark, dangerous, level tone. A warning.

‘I meant, where did you go.’

John chewed on the inside of his lip and was grateful his eyes were getting accustomed to the darkness.

‘I went for a run. Couldn’t sleep.’

Randy shifted on the bed, John heard the fabric against his bare skin and was filled with a feeling of regret so strong it crushed at his heart.

It was the little things about Randy that hurt the most. The sounds he made in the night, the quiet, wounded sounds, the way his eyelids twitched and his brow creased when he slept, the way he would wake with a gasp and lay there in the silence and all John wanted to do was reach over and pull him in close – but Randy was proud, Randy could handle it all himself. A modern day Atlas.

‘Can I join?’

Randy pulled the covers back as invitation and John crossed the rest of the room. He pulled his shorts off and climbed into the bed. Settled onto his side and looked up at Randy in the half light. He had a perfect profile. Strong and square like a sculpture.

‘Are you gonna lay down?’

Randy looked at him, his eyes wandered all over John’s body. His face, his hand propped against his cheek, all the way down over his chest and legs to his bare feet, slow and precise. John would give all the money in the world to know what was happening inside his head.

Randy flicked the covers over them both and slipped down into the bed. John felt the warmth of his body flood through the fabric. Randy stared up at the ceiling and laid his arms above him, palms up, long elegant fingers curled on the pillow. John loved Randy’s hands. They were strong and dexterous, capable but gentle. He was good with them, knew how to use them to make John clutch at the mattress and forget his own name. He had the hands of an artist, or an engineer. John, he had brawlers hands.

John reached up and trailed the pad of his finger over Randy’s open palm in a lazy circle. Moved slowly down across his wrist and the soft inked skin of his forearm and over the dark curve of his bicep. Randy was looking at him now, an unreadable expression. John’s finger travelled lightly away from ink and onto bare skin, down the side of Randy’s chest, slowly, to feel him breathing and the steady thump of his heart.

‘I’m sorry.’ John murmured. He flattened his palm under the cover and swept it over Randy’s stomach, stopping to graze his thumb over the hip bone. He cupped it and pulled himself closer, arm laying deadweight around Randy’s waist. John ducked his head and pushed his mouth to soft warm skin, a small slow kiss against his ribs.

‘I don’t care where you go, just wake me next time.’ Randy’s voice rumbled in his chest and John felt it against his lips, low and deep.

‘Okay. Promise.’

‘What I gotta do to keep you in my bed?’

John heard the smile in Randy’s voice and had to look up to check it was real.

‘Nothin’, you asshole.’ John nipped quickly at Randy’s shoulder and he twitched away with a hiss. He rolled onto his side and got to his knees. The bed covers draped up over his back like a tent. He climbed lithely over John and settled there, looking down at him. Propped on one arm, he traced his thumb over John’s mouth. ‘I hate it when you do that.’ He murmured. John smiled a little and ran his hands down Randy’s sides.

‘You’re pretty when you’re angry.’

Randy breathed out a small laugh and dipped his thumb into John’s mouth. ‘Shut up.’

John stared up at him, tasting salt on his tongue, trapped. The way the world looked to him now, how perfect and quiet it was, was everything he lived for.

Randy leaned down and licked at the place where his thumb disappeared between John’s lips, and John couldn’t help but open his mouth and arch up into it, fingers raking down Randy’s thighs. Randy trailed his thumb wetly down John’s jaw, eyes the colour of slate fixed on his mouth. He gripped the back of John’s head and kissed him, slow and deep. The scruff on Randy’s jaw scratched against his bare skin like sandpaper, but the warm wetness of his tongue made John twist and whine like he had a fever.

‘I hate waking up without you.’ Randy spoke against John’s mouth, breathed the words into him.

‘I’m sorry.’ John said again. ‘I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.’ He mumbled, kissing lightly down Randy’s jaw.

Proud as Randy was, he knew John was the only thing he had to cling to when he felt like falling. John would be there no matter what. Except when he wasn’t.

Randy shifted down and kissed the hollow of John’s throat, swallowing the taste of clean sweat. His hands wandered over John’s body, a hot pressure that made John feel like he was burning. Lower and lower, Randy’s mouth made John’s skin prickle and sting deliciously, lips teeth and tongue like fire.

Randy settled between John’s legs and hooked his fingers under the band of John’s boxers, pulling slowly. John raised his hips and felt them slip off over his feet. Randy whipped the cover back and threw them down, started kissing the insides of John’s thighs with his eyes closed. John drank in the sight of him, strong hands gripping his calves, back tensed and flexing in the low light, tattoos snaking and dark over Randy like they were alive.

Breath was leaving John in shallow, quiet gasps and he pushed a hand through his hair, tried to ground himself. ‘God, you’re perfect,’ he heard himself say. Randy smirked against his thigh, looked up at him.

‘I’m touched you think so.’ He bit slowly and gently at the skin on John’s hip and John breathed out, hard.

‘I do, I really do.’

Randy leaned back on his knees and ran a hand up John’s stomach and took him in his mouth. John’s entire body twitched in a wave that started at his stomach and travelled up, his shoulders lurching off the bed.

‘ _Fuck_.’

Randy’s mouth was warm and wet and his rhythm was desperately slow and John knew he could keep it up for hours. His hands clutched at Randy’s arms and clamped like vices. He bit down on his lip, so determined to keep it together when he felt like his mind was melting.

Randy slowed down further and worked his tongue methodically, in the way he knew made John lose his mind; small, slow licks, torturously light, and then swallowed him down again. All the way to the back of his throat this time. John doesn’t know who taught him that but he’d known it from the first time they’d been together, in a draughty gas station restroom where Randy had dropped to his knees and blown John so perfectly that when he came he swore he blacked out for a few seconds.

John’s hand moved to the back of Randy’s head and his fingers gently brushed against his neck – _please, more._

‘Randy,’

‘Mm?’

His voice sent a shudder through John from his cock to his fingertips.

‘Faster, please, _fuck_.’

‘Nn-uhh.’ Randy shook his head a little and when he looked up at John, John felt his toes curl and his mouth fall open. Randy worked his mouth up and down slowly, precisely, expertly. His perfect hands came to join his mouth, stroking and squeezing gently and John knew now, knew for sure he was gone.

Tight hot pressure sparked at the base of his spine and he felt himself floating, Randy holding him at the edge and not letting him get over until he was ready. Words fell from his mouth like a hushed mantra – ‘please oh god please, I’m sorry, fuck please, yes-’

He felt Randy moan, low and quiet, felt it spread through him like the bass from his speakers. He glanced down and saw that Randy was stroking himself now, hurriedly, hunched between John’s thighs. ‘Oh, god-’

John watched Randy’s legs twitch and his back dip and felt his jaw go slack and he came into his hands, John’s cock still in his mouth. He moaned around it, sending waves up through John and giving him an image he would never, ever forget.

‘Holy-ohh my god-’

Randy’s mouth felt lazy and wet but he swallowed John down to the back of his throat and worked his tongue. John clawed his hands into Randy’s shoulders and clamped his legs around his back and came with a loud moan, his hips jerking. Randy didn’t move until he heard John breathe a shuddering sigh, and felt his legs relax.

He pulled away and flopped onto his side, breathing hard. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared up into nothingness.  John looked blankly at him, tried to find words, and failed.

Randy got up and shuffled to the bathroom on shaking legs. John blinked until he could see straight and made no attempt to move when Randy returned. He grabbed the corner of the bed cover from the floor, hitched it over his back and climbed back onto the bed. Collapsing down next to John he flung it over them both and settled back into his pillow. He smelled like sweat and sex and John had never been more in love.

‘I’m gonna make you mad more often.’ He mumbled.

‘Don’t you fuckin’ dare.’


End file.
